


never tear us apart

by theoneinquisitor



Series: i love to wake up next to you [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cunnilingus, Fluff and Smut, Just Sex Wow, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Stripper! Bellamy, jealous! Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 02:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16734942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneinquisitor/pseuds/theoneinquisitor
Summary: He finally approaches her and sit across from her on the coffee table, trying to wrap his head around it all, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”“How am I supposed to compete with that?” she sags into the couch dejectedly and it  takes his brain a moment to catch up because Clarke is sitting in front of him thinking that she has to compete with anyone else? Fuck, he must not be as good a boyfriend as he thought.Or: The one where Clarke is feeling a bit insecure and Bellamy reminds her just how beautiful she is.





	never tear us apart

**Author's Note:**

> I found this just sitting in my docs because apparently I forgot to post it. Or I wasn't sure whether to post it or not. Anyways, here it is. Just some good ol' blarke fuckin'.

As it turns out, Bellamy is actually pretty good at the whole boyfriend thing. Considering he's only ever been in one other relationship before, which was back in early high school, and his current job field he had been a little more than nervous. He's had a crush on Clarke for ages yet never actually thought anything would come out of it. She was dating that douche bag and he's a stripper and why the hell would she want to be with someone like him?

 

It’s been almost eight months since they got together and things have been going great. Better than, great actually. They spend most of their time together, which may or may not be healthy, and he’s pretty much gotten the hang of the whole exclusive dating thing. He holds her hand basically anytime he can because he just has the incessant need to touch her, which, again, healthy? They go out when they can, though his job keeps him busy most weekends, and they study together. He makes her dinner. She makes him coffee in the morning, because apparently there is more to life than Folger’s and thank God she introduced him to real coffee. She knows pretty much all there is to know about him and he’s so fucking happy. Happier than he can remember being. 

 

His job hasn’t been an issue -- in fact, she very frequently wants him to demonstrate and practice with her, which he does happily. When he works on the weekend, she’s usually hanging out with friends or studying and always checks in on him to make sure he got home okay. She asks questions about it and has never once made him feel bad for his line of work. It’s all been going fine.

 

Until dinner. 

 

He takes her to new restaurant she’s been wanting to try downtown. Midterms were this week and he thought they should celebrate so she throws on a dress, one of his favorites -- it’s buttoned blue floral sundress and she looks phenomenal in it (though, he’s biased, she looks good in everything) and he makes sure to wear her favorite shirt. A blue henley, not that he understands the appeal but it seems to do something to her so he’ll wear it just for that. When they arrive, they’re practically giddy, the relief of finishing up their exams and having a few days off making them both more at ease than they’ve been in weeks. He even took the night off to spend with her, paying one of the guys to cover his section of dances just so Roan doesn’t throw a fit. 

 

They’re seated by the window and he just watches her over the top of his menu, as always, distracted by just how fucking gorgeous she is. So when the waitress approaches, he doesn’t really pay attention. What he does notice is the way Clarke tenses up. 

 

“Oh my God,” the waitress says and he finally turns his attention to her, “Blake?” 

 

Oh shit. 

 

“Wow,” she continues, “You look even better in the daylight.” 

 

He smiles politely at her, “Now you know I’m not a vampire.”

 

It’s a shitty joke but the waitress laughs anyway, “That’s too bad.”

 

He gives Clarke a look, mostly because he’s confused by her answer. Does she want him to be a vampire? Is that a thing again? Clarke purses her lips and stares intently at her menu.

 

“Can I get you a drink?” the waitress asks and he orders a bottle of wine for the both of them. He never really drank wine before, but Clarke loves White Zinfandel and there always seems to be a bottle at home. He’s grown to enjoy it. 

 

Apparently, he’s more oblivious than he thinks. Dinner, at least to him, goes well. They drink the bottle, clinking glasses and laughing as their buzz grows. The food is good and he and Clarke finally catch up on everything over the past couple of weeks. Exams kept them pretty preoccupied and he’s missed her. But when they get the bill, Clarke snatches it before he can, demanding she pay since they’re relationship isn’t based on that “toxic masculinity idea that men have to pay for every meal” and he paid last time they went out. 

 

Her mouth drops when she opens the bill fold and he thinks maybe it turned out more expensive than they anticipated. “I can get it.”

 

“I’ve got it,” she snaps suddenly, placing her card in the pocket. He’s taken aback by the sudden change in attitude and grabs the black book before she can stop him. 

 

“How bad is it?” 

 

The bill isn’t bad, about what he expected. But then at the bottom there’s a note. With a phone number and a name attached. 

 

As if on cue, the waitress, Bree -- as he now knows her -- returns for the bill. He hands it over, avoiding eye contact with her as Clarke glares daggers. When she leaves, Clarke’s eyes follow her and he reaches across the table for her hand and gives her a reassuring smile, not that she needs it. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

 

That actually draws out a smile, “Maybe once or twice.”

 

When the waitress returns, Clarke takes the bill, maybe a bit more forcefully than she should, and quickly signs. “You ready?” 

 

He pulls her into his side as they walk out, pressing a quick kiss against her cheek. They’re almost out the door when the waitress calls out to them.

 

“Have a good one,” she tells them, before turning her eyes on him, “Come back  _ any  _ time.”

 

Clarke manages to hold herself together until they get in the Uber.

“Unfucking believable!” 

 

He places his hand on her knee and squeezes, “It’s okay, babe.” 

 

“No, it’s not. Does she make a habit of hitting on men who are clearly taken?” 

 

“Maybe she just wanted a good tip.”

 

“She’s lucky I didn’t tip her my fist,” Clarke growls. 

 

He kisses her knuckles with a smirk and he doesn’t think anything else of dinner at the waitress after that.

 

But apparently he’s alone in that.

 

They arrive back at his apartment and as soon as they do, he pins her against the front door, laying kisses along her neck. He’s really missed her that past couple of weeks and he just wants to be with her. Except she’s huffing in frustration rather than sighing in pleasure and it’s disconcerting. 

 

He pulls back, “What’s wrong?”

 

He drop a kiss to her bare shoulder, toying with the thin strap of her dress as he trails his lips along her jawline. She huffs again and he pauses.

 

“Can you believe she just completely acted like I wasn’t there?” she growls, “I mean, Jesus, at least pretend you aren’t actively eye fucking my boyfriend while you take  _ our  _ order!” 

 

He slides the strap of her dress back up with a sigh, “You really want to have this conversation now, don’t you?” 

 

She moves away, stomping into the kitchen to grab a glass and fill it under the tap. He lets his hands drop to his side and leans against the counter. It's not that he didn't expect this conversation to come up, frankly he’s surprised it took this long. Then again, it's the first time anyone has ever recognized him outside the club and it sort of crushes whatever illusion they've both built around that. 

 

She takes a long drink before wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist and continuing her pout, “Just...manners, you know?”

 

He laughs moving around the counter so his hand can graze the small of her back, “I hardly even noticed her.”

 

She glares at him as if it were the wrong thing to say and he sighs when she pulls away. If there’s one thing that can frustrate him about Clarke it’s the way she gets inside her head. If something bothers her, she tends to overthink it rather than say it out loud and she still thinks she has to deal with it on her own. He gets it, he used to be the same way, but he wants her to be comfortable coming to him about things, even if it’s something uncomfortable or that’s bothering her specifically about him.

 

“Clarke,” he leans against the counter, allowing her space for the moment, “Someone was bound to recognize me at some point, especially considering we’ve been doing busier venues.”

 

Frankly, he’s not happy to be recognized either. He’s been doing this for a few years without issue but ever since they moved clubs, his exposure has increased quite a bit. Meaning someone from school is bound to show up at some point. Or the pool of women who know him grows. 

 

“I know,” she sighs, “It’s just, she was hot and I guess I’m just now understanding that the hot girls ogling you at the club are also hot girls on the street.”

 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ It clicks in his head that she’s jealous. Clarke is actually jealous, which throws him for a couple of reasons. The first being that she knows this is his job and it hasn’t seemed to bother her before. In fact, she often makes him do, er, private lap dances for her to show off his skill. The second being that she always seems secure around him. Confident in both herself and their relationship. 

 

He finally approaches her and sit across from her on the coffee table, trying to wrap his head around it all, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” 

 

“How am I supposed to compete with that?” she sags into the couch dejectedly and it  takes his brain a moment to catch up because Clarke is sitting in front of him thinking that she has to  _ compete  _ with anyone else? Fuck, he must not be as good a boyfriend as he thought. 

 

“You don’t need to compete with anyone,” he says softly, crouching in front of her, placing his hands on her thighs  and squeezing the soft flesh gently.

 

“It's just, you know, you get to touch all over these beautiful women and I'm sure having a raging hard on for hours doesn't feel good…”

 

“Clarke,” he can't help but to let out a soft chuckle, “you are the only girl that gives me raging hard ons, believe me.”

 

She snorts, “Yeah, okay.”

 

“I mean it,” he says seriously, gripping her thighs a little tighter, “No one even comes close to you.”

 

Her eyes finally meet his and he can see just how in her head she is about the whole thing. It's mind blowing, if he's being honest, that she actually thinks anyone else is even worth looking at. He wonders, if maybe he hasn't told her enough but that's damn near impossible because he knows he tells her at least forty times a day how beautiful she is. How smart. How funny. How perfect.

 

He's a fucking sap.

 

But maybe saying it isn't enough. Maybe if he could show her. His grip gets a little tighter, the thought already making his skin warm. 

 

He settles on to his knees, hips cradled between her legs as he leans up. Her breath hitches as he kisses her. It's a firm, decisive press of his lips and she melts into it instantly. Her small hand comes up to stroke the day-after stubble growing on his cheek and her mouth opens for him, ready and willing for him to make it dirty, just how she likes it. He wills himself to pull away, brushing a stray hair from her forehead.

 

She whines at the loss of contact, but he leans his forehead in hers and repeats, this time with finality, “There will never be anyone that ever compares to you.”

 

She sighs, leaning up to kiss him again, this time more confident and conceding. He strokes the tops of her thighs, hands underneath the cotton dress she had worn for him today. She knows how much he loves it, how it compliments her curves and brings out the gold flecks in her bright blue eyes. She runs her tongue along his lip, pressing to go deeper but he pulls back. 

 

“Bell,” she whines but he just smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, drawing a shiver from her.

 

“I don't think just telling you is enough,” he says, running his hands further up her dress. She pushes into his palms automatically, a reaction that never fails to flatter him. She's been vocal about his hands and what they can do, but tonight he wants to give her more.

 

He stands and offers to help her up.  She takes both hands and hers and he pulls, guiding her to the bedroom. The groceries lay forgotten as he sits her on the bed, letting his fingers graze her shoulder with the lightest of touches. 

 

“You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met,” he tells her, ghosting his finger down her shoulder before gently edging her back. She scoots wordlessly, seemingly entranced by the sudden change in the air. The air between them is always charged, an electric current of want and connection. He’s never felt it like this before, and it’s sure as hell never been this constant flow. He sometimes forgets where he ends and she begins and it’s scary but fucking amazing. 

 

Except it’s different in this moment. It’s not electric, but something more. Heavy and warm and intense. 

 

He pulls her petite hand into his own and lifts it to his chest, “You feel that?” He can hear the thump as it rattles against her palm, “Every time I'm with you, my heart races. Just like this.”

 

She stares at home with wide eyes, mouth opening slightly to make a perfect ‘o’. He squeezes her fingers, “You do this to me. Not anyone at the club or some waitress in a restaurant. You.”

 

“Bellamy,” she whispers, eyes beginning to fill. He leans down to kiss her cheek, ghosting his skin over where they’ve begun to grow red. Then her forehead. Her eyelid, her nose. Her breath is coming out in soft spurts with each press of his lips and when he kisses the corner of her mouth, she groans in frustration. “Kiss me already!”

 

He chuckles but obliges, only it’s a chaste peck. He wants to do this the right way. He wants her to understand. 

 

He cups her cheek in his hand, stroking his thumb along her jaw as his other one travels down to her waist. He presses his forehead to hers, “I love you. So much. Sometimes I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

 

Finally, he leans in and kisses her right. She lets out a moan as his tongue finds hers and they fall back into the pillows. Kissing Clarke is never anything short of amazing. He’d never given much thought to it before -- kissing was always a natural part of sex or dating, but it never meant much else. But every kiss, hell, every touch from her makes the whole world disappear. It’s just them. 

 

He feels her hands slip under his shirt and scrape at his abs and he smiles against her lips. She gives his shirt a tug and he lets her pull it off, but when they slip to the waistband of his jeans he pulls back. 

 

“What?” she asks innocently. Her eyes are hooded, and she already looks so blissed out but he still doesn’t think she understands completely. 

 

“Not yet,” he tells her, pulling her hand away from his hips and pinning it to the bed.

 

“What do you mean not yet?” she argues, trying to push against his weight on her wrist without much luck.

 

With his free and, he pushes the hair away from her neck and bends down, leaving an open mouth kissed on her exposed throat. She lets out a soft sigh, which he takes to mean she concedes and continues down the soft column, leaving a trail behind. He nibbles playfully at her collarbone before pushing the strap of her dress off her shoulder so he can kiss her there, “You are amazing, Clarke. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to list all the reasons because there are so many.”

 

He releases her wrist, trusting she won’t move it, so he can push down the other strap. Her arms stays on the bed as he kisses along her other shoulder, while he traces along her ribs. He finds the first button beginning just at the top of her chest and skillfully undoes it. He follows each button with his mouth and she arches into him as he does, hand finally moving from the bed so she can tangle it into his hair. Once the dress is hanging open, he leans back to take her in. She’s wearing one of his favorite bras, simple white and lace trimmed. Her chest looks incredible in it and the white brings out a glow in her. 

 

“I remember the first time I saw you,” he tells her, fingers tracing idle patterns on  her stomach, “You walked into class, hair piled on top of your head and looked like you wanted to set the place on fire. I couldn’t get you out of my head, even then.” 

 

It was instant, though he had refused to admit it to himself. Being attracted to her was never the problem, just his own insecurity and he often wonders what would have happened had she never come to the club that night. Would they have continued to dance around one another? The thought alone makes him feel uneasy because he can’t imagine his life without her anymore. 

 

“Not enough,” he chuckles softly out loud, still dumbfounded she could ever think that about herself, “You are everything.” 

 

He slides his hand behind her back as she arches from bed to give him access. He unclasps the bra and pulls it from her shoulders, dropping it to the ground as he takes her in. “And your tits, babe, my God.” He runs his thumb over one of her tight nipples, rolling it back and forth, “They’re fucking gorgeous.”

 

He leans down and runs his tongue over her breast, palming the other one in his hand as he does so. Clarke is letting out sharp breaths with each flick of his tongue, each suck, and he swears he could listen to her do that for hours. He loves the noises she makes. He loves that she makes them just for him. 

 

He moves to the other one, taking his time to enjoy the feel of her underneath him. Her hand his still tangled in his hair, scraping lightly at his scalp as she mewls quietly in pleasure. While he could definitely stay attached to her breasts all night, he’s still only just started. So he pulls back, and moves down her chest, to her stomach, to her hips just where skin meets her pantyline. 

 

He can see wetness pooled at her center and he can’t help but smirk, call it a primal reaction, but seeing her arousal does something to him. “This all for me, babe?” 

 

Her answer causes him to let out his own moan: “Won’t ever be anyone else.” 

 

He presses his mouth against her panty covered pussy, just wanting to feel the warmth of it on his lips. She lets out a cry of frustration as he mouths at her, no doubt wanting nothing more than for him to fuck her with his tongue. But he’s enjoying taking things slow. Taking in every single inch of her. 

 

His thumb slips underneath the band of her underwear and strokes at her hipbone as he continues kissing at her cunt, but even he grows impatient with himself. He quickly discards the panties, leaving her almost fully naked -- her dress is still hanging open off her body and it’s so fucking sexy he has to unzip his pants just to relieve some of the tension there. 

 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he croons from in between her legs, stroking at her entrance reverently. He slides his tongue along her folds just for a quick taste, grinning up at her as she leans up to watch, “And you always taste so good. So good, Clarke.”

 

He takes her in fully then and she falls back against the bed with a loud cry. She shutters as his tongue flattens against her clit, flicking once, twice, and then working it’s way down. He buries himself into her, gripping both thighs tightly as he holds them apart. When he let’s his teeth graze her clit, she bucks her hips and begins to rock into him, following each stroke of his tongue. He can tell she’s already close, her legs trembling beneath his palms and the tightening of her hand in his hair. 

 

“Fuck Bell,” her moan echoes loudly around the room. He loves when she’s loud and it drives him further, “Oh my God,  _ shit,  _ your mouth.  _ Fuck,  _ I love your mouth.” 

 

“I love you,” he murmurs into her pussy, “So much, babe. So fucking much.” 

 

Normally, the talk stays dirty and detailed but this is so different. This is him laying everything bare, letting her know that he’s hers for as long as she’ll have him. That she is the most beautiful person on the entire fucking planet.

 

She arches off the bed as she comes with a loud cry, and he lets out his own moan as he continues to lick and take in all her juices. He wants to take her all the way through and he does, dialing back to soft kitten licks as she sinks back into the mattress. 

 

He crawls up her body, meeting her for a messy kiss. She licks into his mouth to taste herself and it’s fucking filthy and he loves it. He doesn’t stop her this time when she reaches between them to push down his jeans, the pressure becoming more than uncomfortable on his dick. He helps her push them down his legs before dropping them to the floor. He’s pushing off his boxers when she catches him off guard and flips them over,  his cock sliding against her entrance as she straddles him.

 

“Fuck, babe.” he growls, hands automatically finding her hips, “This is supposed to be about you.” 

 

She gives him a sly smile, rocking her hips forward so that he slides against her and his grip gets a little tighter, “You watching me while I fuck you is  _ definitely  _ more for my benefit.” 

 

“Then by all means,” he grins and she slides onto him easily, pussy stretching around his cock naturally, like they were meant to fit together. She moves slowly at first, just easing herself up and down and he just admires the view.

 

Her head is thrown back as she moves, her golden hair caressing her smooth back, tits bouncing with each movement. His heart feels like it might spontaneously combust just looking at her, just watching her fuck herself on him as he holds her. “You have no idea how fucking sexy you look like this. Nothing like it.” She takes him fully, slamming down so it’s hips slap against her ass and he knows if they keep up like this, he’s going to lose it. 

 

He leans up to kiss her, just a mess of tongues and teeth as she rocks back and forth. He tangles a hand into her hair, pulling lightly like he knows she likes before nipping at her throat. He braces his legs on the bed so as she moves up he can flip them back over so she’s on her back and she giggles as he does. He pulls one of her legs over his shoulder to change the angle and her fingernails dig into his bicep as he slams into her.

 

He keeps his eyes on her face, watching as his name rolls off her lips and each moan escapes from between her teeth. Her hair is fanned out on the pillow as she writhes underneath him. He slows his pace, pumping in and out at a torturous momentum. She opens her eyes and leans down to kiss her softly before swiping a stray curl from her forehead, “You are, without a doubt, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Don’t ever doubt that.” 

 

She grips his face between her hands and kisses him so hard he nearly loses his balance. He loops an arm underneath her back in the space between her and the mattress to hold her to him as he picks up the pace again. 

 

“I love you, Bellamy,” she moans against his lips. 

 

He can’t hold it any longer. His hips stutter, but he wants to hear it again. He keeps his eyes on hers, “Say it again.”

 

“I love you.” she says loudly and he feels her walls tighten and release around his cock, pulling his own release from him sharply. He buries his head into her neck as he comes, slowing his movements until stopping all together and collapsing on top of her. He’s always worried he’s going to crush her, but Clarke really seems to love having him like this for a minute afterwards. His weight is comforting, so she’s told him and it’s not like he minds. He feels like he can hardly function.

 

“Bell?” she whispers into his ear, hand tracing along his spine as she holds him to her

 

“Hm?” 

 

“You proved your point,” he can feel her smile against his shoulder. 

 

“And what was my point?” he asks, finding what strength he has left to lean up to look at her. She pushes his hair back from his face.

 

“There won’t ever be anyone else.” 

 

He kisses her softly, “If you ever doubt that, I’d be happy to remind you again.”  He rolls off of her and pulls her into his side before slipping them both underneath the covers, not bothering to get dressed. She wraps herself around him, burying her nose into his chest. 

 

Yeah, he thinks, there definitely won’t ever be anyone else.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come hang on [tumblr!](https://octannibal-blake.tumblr.com)  
> Also, special shout out to whoever nominated me for the BFWA's! I'm literally feeling so emo about it. You can read all about those on tumblr if you want some good fic recs or to check out my noms!


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